


Catharsis

by Minervas_Revenge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-03-21 10:25:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13738878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minervas_Revenge/pseuds/Minervas_Revenge
Summary: Hermione overhears stories that have an effect on her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heads-up: this is a WIP. I have the plot planned out but not yet written. I feel like getting it out there, though. XOXO

**One night…**

“Where’s the swot?” Blaise asked, regally claiming one of the arm chairs.

 

“Already abed,” Draco replied, uninterested in Blaise’s crush. He summoned firewhiskey and two glasses from his bedroom, settling into the other arm chair.

 

“I don’t know how you do it, Draco.”

 

“What’s that?” Draco asked, irritated by Blaise’s unwavering stare at the Head Girl’s bedroom door.

 

“Share a room with her and not try to get a piece!”

 

With a scowl, Draco filled his glass.

 

“Of _Granger_?” he asked incredulously. “Bushy-haired, buck-toothed know-it-all?”

 

Blaise finally tore his gaze from the witch’s bedroom door. “Have you not given her a proper look since third year?”

 

Rather than answer, Draco held out a glass to Blaise. Granger was not worth further conversation. Since being selected as Head Students upon their return to Hogwarts, a silent pact to ignore one another had kept the peace. That and Granger was a hermit. The witch was either at class, in the library, or in her room. It seemed their shared common area held no appeal. So, most evenings, it was where Draco and Blaise shared a drink and conversation.

 

“I want to hear more about your vacation,” Blaise said with a glint in his eye.

 

Smirking, Draco relaxed into his chair. “It was a much needed break from my family…”

 

“Tell me about Ibiza.”

 

Draco’s gaze was caught by the flicker of the fire where it snapped in the grate. He frowned.

 

“I didn’t stay there long.”

 

“But, Sirena made it worth it.”

 

Torn between repressing his time with Sirena and the desire to impress Blaise, Draco sighed. Under the guise of drawing out Blaise’s suspense, Draco tossed back the contents of his glass and refilled it.

 

“I don’t know how many times you want to hear it, man. She was gorgeous. Golden, head to toe.”

 

“You said she was a sadist,” Blaise pushed.

 

_Had he?_ Draco mused that he should slow down on the drink if he had used that particular word.

 

“Something like that...” Memories of the smell of sweat and leather and the sensation of heat and pain surfaced in Draco’s mind. He closed his eyes and emptied his glass, again.

 

“What’d she do?”

 

Blaise’s eyes gleamed with malevolent interest. Draco gave him a smirk. He’d never share that Sirena’s attention was therapeutic, the pain she elicited from him blacking out his memories of the war. Blaise wouldn’t understand. He just wanted to hear about the sex.

 

“There was this one night, she tied my wrists to the end bedposts... Left me standing at the edge, looking down at her…” Draco paused to refill and sip from his glass. Blaise was keeping up and refilled his glass, as well.

 

“She was spread out across her bed. Skin like honey… Hair like rays of the sun…” Draco could see her when he closed his eyes. He remembered the languid desire that bubbled through him watching her, watch him.

 

“She play with her tits?” Blaise asked, grinning.

 

Draco grinned back. “Eventually. She took her time getting there, though. She teased herself, first. She had a feather and she touched herself with it all over until she broke out in chills… It felt like forever that I had to hang there, watching, unable to touch her…”

 

“What else?” Blaise prompted, voice slurred.

 

“She finally got herself off. I swear it took hours before she did. I never had balls that blue, mate.”

 

“What happened after that?”

 

“You really want to know?”

 

“Fuck, yes,” Blaise chortled.

 

“She breathed on my cock – didn’t even touch me – and I gave her a pearl necklace…”

 

“Damn,” Blaise said, sitting back.

 

**One morning…**

 

Hermione couldn’t keep her gaze from him. She’d been listening to his stories for a couple of weeks. His words burned pictures in her mind that she couldn’t erase. Her thoughts, along with her eyes, followed him when he strolled into the Great Hall for breakfast.

 

It was as if Hermione had been with Draco Malfoy in Ibiza, where he partied and fucked his pain away, and Amsterdam, where he recovered and soothed his soul. The stories he told about Sirena, the sadist, and Ava, the Tantra Queen of Amsterdam, were vibrant – true or not. Since accidentally overhearing Malfoy regaling an audience with a detailed and arousing description of a two-hour long blow job from Ava, Hermione had been unable to stop listening.

 

Hermione didn’t realize that she’d been caught staring, she was so absorbed in her imagination. It wasn't until Malfoy stood beside her that she snapped out of her trance. Heat flared in Hermione’s gut to look up into Malfoy’s grey eyes. They stared at one another for a moment before he broke into a leering smirk.

 

“You’ve been listening,” he hissed.

 

Before Hermione could ask to what he referred, he was gone.

 

**One evening…**

 

“Which one do you like the best?”

 

As Draco hoped, he had surprised the witch. She jumped at the sound of his voice and dropped her books. He’d skipped dinner in order to lie in wait and it had been worth it.

 

“What are you talking about?” she asked, drawing her wand to summon her books back into her arms.

 

Draco left his chair and deliberately moved closer to her. He wished Blaise hadn’t encouraged him to look at Granger with a new perspective because the git was right; she’d grown into a lovely witch. Her bushy hair had softened into chestnut waves and her robes hinted at feminine curves in the right places.

 

“You don’t hear my stories?” he asked, feigning hurt.

 

“What stories?” she asked, holding herself as still as a deer in an open field.

 

“And to think last night’s was just for you…” he pouted.

 

Granger was frowning. Draco wondered if he was mistaken. Was it possible? He’d have to push harder to find out. He moved closer to her, close enough to count the handful of freckles dusting her nose.

 

“Tell me you don’t get off listening…”

 

The tip of her wand suddenly pressed into his neck.

 

“Give me a reason to use it,” Granger growled.

 

Draco backed away, hands up, but his gaze was thoughtful.

 

“Ava or Sirena..? …Tell me which one you like more and tonight’s story will be about her… Just for you.”

 

Were her squinted eyes hiding interest or confusion?

 

She shook her head and put her wand away. “Malfoy, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

The witch hurried for her room.

 

“Ava,” Draco guessed.

 

Granger’s expression was full dismissal as she glared at him from her room and firmly shut the door.


	2. Chapter 2

“All clear,” Draco announced, swinging the portrait wide for Blaise and Graham Pritchard. Pritchard had joined them a handful of nights; he was fairly tolerable for a fifth-year.

 

“Pritchard’s got viper-wine,” Blaise said with a sly wink.

 

“You are welcome here, Pritchard,” Draco chuckled. “My supplies have run low.”

 

“I’ll share for the price of a story,” the stocky, black-haired wizard taunted, drawing a bottle of ink-colored wine from inside his cloak.

 

“That means Blaise needs to share, too,” Draco snapped with a sharp glance at his friend. He was certain Blaise had suggested Pritchard hold his prize ransom for a tale from Draco’s repertoire.

 

Blaise shrugged and sprawled across the cushions before the fireplace. Pritchard plopped into an armchair and Draco claimed the remaining chair. He summoned a third glass from his room and set it, along with the two he’d left out the night before, in front of Pritchard.

 

“The wine is gone,” Blaise bemoaned, a couple of hours later.

 

“Where’s my story, Malfoy?” Pritchard slurred. He leaned forward to bang his fist on the table and fell out of the chair.

 

Blaise and Draco roared with laughter. Graham did not have their stamina for alcohol. He gave a soft snore from the floor. Blaise and Draco laughed harder.

 

“You never said… How’d you meet Sirena, anyway?”

 

Draco glanced at Blaise through narrowed lids. What was his fascination with Sirena? With an annoyed mutter, Draco tossed back the last dregs of wine in his glass. He’d promised Granger a story about Ava. Of course, it was much later than he’d expected to be talking about either girl. Granger was probably long since asleep. She couldn’t have been much entertained by their mundane chatter. If she was even listening.

 

“She’s a Muggle, isn’t she?” Blaise asked.

 

Draco felt anger begin simmering in his gut.

 

“That’s why you don’t like talking about her.”

 

“Yeah,” Draco lied smoothly. Honestly, he’d rather label her Muggle than admit he’d let the witch muddle the sensations of pleasure and pain to the point where he couldn’t tell them apart. Damned magic erased the scars and only drinking blotted out the memories.

 

“So, how did you meet her?” Blaise repeated.

 

Pritchard gave a rattling snore that lightened Draco’s mood. Fine. Blaise would get another Sirena story.

 

“Little surprise, I met her at a club. I was already drunk. The place was small. I wouldn’t have even known it was a club except that the music made the street thump. I went in and could _feel_ the bass.

 

“If it weren’t for the strobes and stage lights, it would have been black inside. The night was hot – I’m sure it stank – but all I could smell was tequila. You’ve had that, right?”

 

Blaise nodded and made a face; “I have the worst tequila story.”

 

“You’re next, then,” Draco grinned viciously.

 

“Anyway, I spotted her straight away. She was in this white jumpsuit and it was wet. You could see everything, mate... _Everything_.”

 

Draco summoned a bottle of rum he’d hidden behind some books and refilled his glass. He set the bottle in front of Blaise and returned to the night he’d met Sirena.

 

“She was stunning. All honey-colored skin and yellow-gold hair. She saw me watching her dance and dragged me onto the dance floor. I mentioned that I was already drunk. Well, she just kept dancing and dancing. Sirena was crazy – she practically fucked me out there. The place dropped gold glitter from the ceiling and it turned surreal.

 

“Everyone glinted under the lights. After an hour, I could barely move my feet – I was exhausted. Sirena took me home with her – I don’t remember how we got anywhere. I just remember her riding me like a Chaser on a Firebolt.”

 

**Just beyond a door…**

 

Hermione drew in the Extendable Ear before Zabini shared his tequila tale; there was a cruelty in him that cut her bone-deep and she’d rather not know what he considered the “worst.”

 

As Hermione padded around her room, setting books on their shelves and rolling parchment into scrolls, she pondered Malfoy’s tone when Zabini asked to hear more about Sirena. It was obvious that Malfoy was reluctant to dwell on Sirena. And Hermione was certain that Zabini’s intent was to annoy Malfoy. Nevertheless, Malfoy always capitulated. She chalked the behavior up to Slytherin idiosyncrasy and settled into bed.

 

**In the morning…**

 

Hermione felt like a flobberworm; She’d been up too late, listening to the wizards. And, she’d been dreaming about Draco Malfoy. As she dressed and gathered her belongings, she considered how deep she’d let him tunnel into her mind. If she was having dreams about him, he was making an impression. Well, that wasn’t new. His voice had been making her warm and sticky for weeks. His appearance in her dreams was just the next step in the madness, right?

 

With a self-deprecating chuckle, Hermione pulled open her door and found the devil, himself, waiting for her. Heat shot through her. She hoped she wasn’t blushing.

 

“I owe you an apology, Granger,” he drawled.

 

“What?” she asked. Her only defense was to play ignorant.

 

“Last night’s story – it wasn’t Ava, after all,” he said.

 

Hermione lifted her brows as if she might say something, then shook her head. She made her way to the entry portrait and swung it open, aware that the wizard was following.

 

“I’ll save it for tonight, then,” he said, shooting her a wink before leaping onto a moving staircase as it swung away.

 

Hermione stopped for a moment, watching Malfoy move nimbly through the growing crowd of students headed for the Great Hall. It seemed he’d shaken a bit of the darkness that Voldemort had developed in him. Hermione could actually see a bit of Mischievous Boy in the way he’d winked at her. Was it possible to forget? To leave the war behind?

 

Throughout the day, Hermione was aware of catching Malfoy’s gaze across the Great Hall and when they passed one another in the corridors. She didn’t understand his sudden interest and he was irritating her already frayed nerves. At dinner, she could practically feel him staring and she staunchly refused to acknowledge him. His attention drew the notice of others. Ginny leaned over to ask her about it; Hermione just shrugged and shook her head.

 

**Across the Great Hall**

 

Despite Blaise’s whisper that he was staring at Granger, Draco couldn’t help himself. And, really, it was Blaise’s fault. He simply had to know if the witch had heard any of his stories.

 

“Everyone’s going to think she turned you down or something,” Blaise warned.

 

Draco sat back and pushed away his untouched meal. Granger held a hand to her forehead, as if shielding herself from the sun. She looked pained as she exchanged words with the Weasley witch.

 

“I think she protests _too much_.”

 

“As in..?” Blaise prompted.

 

“As in I’m going to put her on the spot.”

 

Draco left the bench and sauntered over to the Gryffindor table where he leaned in beside Granger.

 

“Granger,” he said.

 

Her dark eyes fixed quizzically on him.

 

“You’ve been listening to my stories for a while now and I just want to know if you’ve learned anything.”

 

The witch frowned, looking more disappointed than annoyed. Then, she picked up her book and stood to stare hard back at him.

 

“I know _Sirena’s not a Muggle_ ,” she quipped, then spun and left the hall.

 

Draco, frozen to the spot, couldn’t decide if he was delighted or horrified. She had been listening. SHE HAD BEEN LISTENING!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Later…**

“Yes, alright. I’ve been listening,” Hermione confessed as Draco entered their common room.

 

With smug nonchalance, the wizard dropped into the empty armchair across from Hermione.

 

“It’s obvious you don’t like talking about Ibiza – why do you do it?”

 

Draco narrowed his eyes at her as if considering what to tell her, then shrugged and summoned a bottle and two glasses from behind a stack of books.

 

“It started with alcohol,” he said with an ironic smile.

 

“You’re too smart for that,” Hermione quipped, wrinkling her nose as he poured a finger of amber liquid into each glass.

 

And, you’re giving me too much credit,” said, glancing up at her.

“Not that I’m complaining. But, I’m as susceptible as any other wizard,” he sighed.

“I envy you,” Hermione whispered, her imagination slipping easily into one of the fantasy-like situations Draco had described. Tied to a bed... Hours of foreplay... Sweet release...

“Did it work..? Did you forget yourself..? For a little while?” she asked, voice ethereal, as lost in thought as her mind.

At the lack of a reply, Hermione realized that Draco was staring at her. Self-consciously sitting up straight and smoothing her skirt, she regained control of herself.

 

“I envy your physical freedom to lose yourself. Witches can’t do that without judgement,” she explained almost curtly.

 

“They can if they find someone they trust...” he replied, offering Hermione one of the glasses.

 

“You want ‘physical freedom?’” he asked, gaze as skeptical as his voice.

 

Taking the glass and setting it on the table beside her, she replied, “I’m _considering_ the idea.”

 

“Don’t do what I did. Find someone who understands.”

 

“You regret it?”

 

“I regret how it ended,” he countered, sipping.

 

“What happened?” Hermione asked, unable to help herself. Draco met her gaze.

 

“Why would I tell you?”

 

“You want to tell me,” Hermione chided.

 

Draco went quiet, staring at his glass. Might he invent a lie?

 

“It’s alright if you don’t,” she shrugged.

 

The wizard finished his drink.

 

“I’m not telling Blaise everything,” he finally rumbled.

 

“I thought not,” Hermione said softly, eager to hear his tales first-hand.

 

“Only the nice bits,” he said with a pointed glance.

 

“I won’t judge you,” Hermione promised as he refilled his glass.

 

“Sirena, she took things too far. She was mad… She beat me several times... I let her and I went back for more. But the last time… I think she was on something. She scarred me. She branded my back and then left me tied to my bed… When I finally regained consciousness and got loose, I went after her…”

 

“Did you find her?” Hermione asked in a hushed voice.

 

Draco nodded.

 

“What - what did you do?” she asked, limbs numbing with anticipation or fear.

 

“I destroyed her home... I broke her wand… And, I cursed her...” Draco tipped back his glass and emptied it.

 

Hermione picked up her glass and took a deep, steadying sip, “Which curse?”

 

Draco didn’t answer right away. His eyes were hard and he was scowling. He blinked slowly and poured himself another drink.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said darkly.

 

Cheeks hot with embarrassment, Hermione realized that she was a little obsessed with Draco and his stories.

 

“We’re not friends,” he growled.

 

“I know,” Hermione replied.

 

“But, if you want to lose yourself, I can help with that...”

 

“You’d tell,” Hermione dismissed immediately. After a heartbeat, the reality of the wizard’s offer caught up to her logical mind and pleasant warmth spread through her veins.

 

Draco leaned towards her and winked, igniting the warm honey under her skin and she held her breath.

 

“Nah,” he said.

 

**Two nights later…**

 

Draco flopped onto his bed. So, it was possible to drink enough to make everything funny and the world, spin. He groaned and fumbled for his wand. As much as he wanted to erase horrific memories from his brain, he’d prefer not to die choking on his own vomit.

 

It was possible that Blaise was trying to kill him. The Slytherin had publicly challenged Draco to a drinking contest in the dungeon common room and Draco may have won, but he wasn’t feeling victorious.

 

A weak purifying charm emptied his bloodstream of most of the alcohol and his room righted itself. Draco sighed in relief and closed his eyes.

 

The click of his door and the halting swish of fabric startled Draco awake. He clumsily grabbed his wand and lit the tip to discover Granger, in a sheer nightdress, beside his bed.

 

Before his sleep-addled mind could work out how to form a question, the witch pulled back his covers and slid in beside him. She smelled like sun-warmed lavender. Draco didn’t fight as she took his wand and set it on the bedside table. The light went out.

 

“Make me forget,” Hermione breathed.

 

**In the morning…**

 

It took Draco a few moments to remember the events of the night. He lifted his head and peered about the room – there was no sign of her. Had he dreamed it, then? If it was his habit to sleep starkers, he’d have thought so. As it was, his robes and shorts were unceremoniously puddled on the floor. It had been no dream.

 

The faint scent of her was still on the pillow. Almost against his will, the memory surfaced. She’d climbed into his bed and he’d enjoyed every minute.

 

“Say my name,” he’d hissed as he tongued her ear.

 

She did not disappoint and even smiled against his mouth when he kissed her.

 

Draco grew hard remembering the sound of her voice when he had finally sheathed himself in her tight, wet depths. She had certainly lost herself, mewing and chanting his name.

 

“Draco… Draco… _Draco_ …”

 

Before he realized what he’d done, Draco took his cock in hand and stroked himself to quick release.

 

At breakfast, Draco was further relieved that Granger was behaving as if nothing had happened. She ignored him and Draco ignored her, in return. He also ignored that it bothered him a little. When Blaise asked how he was still alive, Draco smirked and replied that it took more than a little drink to kill a Malfoy.

 

**Slytherin vs Gryffindor**

 

The new Gryffindor Seeker was like a miniature Chinese Fireball. The tiny red and gold nightmare flew like a train off the tracks and she’d managed to knock Draco from his broom twice. It happened so fast he couldn’t tell if she was using a maneuver or a jinx.

 

As Draco showered after his team’s resounding defeat, he wondered if he ought to quit Quidditch. It simply wasn’t the same without Potter to heckle.

 

Pain shot through Draco as he reached for his towel. He cringed. He’d bruised or pulled something. He’d have to try stretching it out later. Pomfrey always made light of his injuries so it was no use going to the infirmary.

 

“Fancy a drink?” Blaise asked as Draco emerged onto the dark pitch.

 

“Not even a little,” Draco replied. “Who the hell is that Seeker?”

 

“A second year. Something Barbary,” Blaise muttered. “Really? No drink?”

 

Draco started to shrug and almost lost his footing at the sharpness of pain that stabbed through him. Perhaps, he was really hurt.

 

“Barbary? Like Heathcote Barbary?”

 

“Dunno,” Blaise shrugged. “If you’re not drinking, I’m digging up Pritchard.”

 

“Have fun with your boyfriend,” Draco sneered. Clearly, Blaise had one thing on his mind and it wasn’t whether the new Gryffindor Seeker was related to the Weird Sisters’ guitarist.

 

After swapping derogatory insults about one others’ mothers, Blaise headed for the Slytherin dungeons and Draco, the infirmary.

 

Madame Pomfrey inspected Draco’s ribs – he’d broken two. A quick spell knitted them but the witch warned Draco to have a restful night as they were still fragile. They’d be properly solid after a night’s sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The last thing Draco expected after a losing Quidditch match was to find a naked witch in his bed.

 

Because it was Granger, she was reading a book.

 

“Did you see the match?” he asked, aiming to appear casual while actually pleased.

 

“Your spectacular loss?” Granger asked, marking her page and setting the book aside. “Must have missed it,” she added with a grin.

 

A sucker for sarcasm, Draco dropped his Nimbus and Quidditch gear where he stood. He made short work of his robes as he strode towards the bed and Granger sighed against his mouth when he kissed her.

 

“Wait,” she breathed, lips red, eyes hazy with need.

 

Draco rolled onto his side, growing suddenly frosty. She was going to stop this, wasn’t she? He knew it was too good to be true: a witch who didn’t judge him, a witch that wanted him for more than his vault or name.

 

“Will you-”

 

Draco jerked his head to look at her. She wanted him to do something? She wasn’t about to end their new ‘understanding?’

 

“Anything you want,” he whispered, tense.

 

“Will you pin up my arms?” she asked, cheeks dark with embarrassment.

 

Without a word, Draco crawled across her to grab his wand and summoned two school ties from the wardrobe.

 

“Know what a safe word is?” he asked as he deftly wrapped one of her wrists in the silky tie and then, the other.

 

Granger nodded. “A word I say if I want you to stop.”

 

“Pick one,” Draco instructed. With a hand on her shoulder, he gently guided her onto her back and directed her arm above her head. He pulled the tie until it was almost taut and secured it to the bedpost. Granger shivered as he did the same to her other arm.

 

“Alright?” he asked, moving to the foot of the bed. The witch’s curves were more pronounced with her arms up; the blush staining her cheeks echoed down her throat. Her strawberry-tipped breasts were full and her legs weren’t long but they were shapely and teasingly twined in his sheets. Granger tested her bindings and gave a whimper; the sound sent a thrill straight to Draco’s cock.

 

“Salazar, you are sexy,” he breathed. “Pick a word, yet?” he added in a low tone.

 

*******

 

The resistance of Draco’s ties was already beginning to agonize Hermione but his compliment caught her off of her guard and she stilled. Her already hot nether lips went slick.

 

“Distal,” she said breathily, fire sparking to life just under her skin.

 

“Distal,” he repeated.

 

Hermione almost cracked a grin to hear the Slytherin say a Muggle word she’d known since she could speak, her parents being dentists. But he didn’t know what it meant and he’d called her sexy. What were dentists? Who cared? The world consisted only of the room, the bed, the green and silver ties proprietarily binding her to the bed, and the young man staring down at her.

 

“What now?” she asked, curious and hopelessly turned-on.

 

“What _not_ now?” he corrected with a mischievous grin.

 

Hermione’s heart quickened in excitement.

 

“Blindfold?” he asked.

 

Hermione hesitated and he immediately shook his head, dismissing the idea.

 

“You like chocolate? Most witches do…” he said.

 

“Chocolate?” Hermione repeated, mystified. Was he going to give her chocolate? _What_? She tried to lift her head as he moved around the room but the angle of her arms kept her effectively pinned to the bed.

 

Draco appeared beside her, a small cauldron cradled in his arms. He smirked at her drawn brows and dipped a finger into the cauldron. He pulled it out covered in molten chocolate. Ah, so that was it. He drew his finger across her mouth and Hermione licked it. Encouraged, he let her suck his finger into her mouth and tongue it clean of the sticky sweet. He gave a sigh and it was Hermione’s turn to grin at his obvious enjoyment.

 

Draco reclaimed his hand and scooped more liquid chocolate out to drizzle it across her body. He dripped paths across her breasts and striped her abdomen. Warm liquid dribbled down her ribs and into her pubic hair. The warmth reignited the heat in her quim and Hermione found herself suddenly panting for air.

 

At the touch of Draco’s tongue to her exposed side, she might have giggled but her sheer helplessness caused her to gasp. Unable to escape the onslaught of his lips, she gave herself over to the sensation. Like that, Hermione was truly lost. Draco was relentless but gentle and she simply shut off her brain as pleasure took her over. He licked and nibbled, following the sticky paths across her body. He sucked and bit, stimulating Hermione’s endorphins but not hard enough to pull her out of her mounting state of ecstasy.

 

The wizard’s mouth ignited flames to dance under her skin and when he placed his hands on her, spread fingers, palms wide, Hermione knew desire. She wanted to feel them everywhere, laying claim to her. One hand slid up her ribs to rest heavily just under her breast. Hermione twisted, hoping to make his hand move somewhere more interesting. As if he knew, Draco’s hand slowly crept up her flesh and his thumb brushed agonizingly around her areola. Giddy delight shot through her like electricity. Her gasp of joy turned into a groan as his hand left her breast.

 

“More,” she moaned, unable to explain.

 

Draco chuckled and she felt his hand return to knead her breast.

 

“Yes,” Hermione exhaled with glee.

 

Draco continued his slow massaging attention to her sticky chest until Hermione was panting and close to climax.

 

When, finally, Draco’s mouth kissed a path towards the scorching crux of her thighs, Hermione cried out, begging him for release. She was a shivering, wanton mess. Her legs were splayed shamelessly wide, hanging off the sides of the narrow bed. She pleaded with Draco again, repeating his name over and over.

 

“Alright, Hermione,” he promised with a wink.

 

He moved to settle between Hermione’s legs. Hands wrapped around her thighs, anchoring her hips. Then, his tongue delicately dipped into her folds. She held her breath for a moment, silently urging him to satisfy her. As he followed the lines of her flesh, pure pleasure began to simmer within her, again, blotting out her frustration. The swipe of his tongue became more frequent, more insistent. Her breath came faster and she fell into black bliss.

 

After awhile, Hermione became aware, again. Draco lay beside her, watching her.

 

“Draco, my arms?” Hermione softly asked.

 

“What about them?”

 

“Free them,” Hermione said, annoyance creeping into her tone.

 

“I’m not done with you,” he replied with a shrug.

 

“I can’t feel them, Draco,” she insisted.

 

He just looked at her.

 

“Distal,” she said, daring him to break their unspoken agreement.

 

Her word made Draco scowl; but, he snagged up his wand and she felt the ties loosen. Hermione sat up and rolled her shoulders, willing blood flow back into her limbs.

 

“That was lovely,” she sighed, getting to her feet.

 

“Are you leaving?” Draco asked. Was that fear in his voice? Did he want her to stay?

 

When she bent to retrieve something beside the bed, she treated Draco to an enticing view.

 

“Not quite yet,” she teased, turning to reveal the cauldron of warm chocolate in her arms. “It’s your turn.”

 

With singular focus, Hermione gave Draco a lengthy chocolate-covered blow job. It was the least she could do after his spectacular performance on her.

 

As she summoned her clothes, she shivered in memory of his attentions. Her body wanted more but Draco appeared exhausted, draped across his bed, arm covering his eyes.

 

Hermione’s hand was on the door when he asked her to stay. 

 

“Stay?” she repeated. “The night?”

 

“A little longer, at least,” he said, walking up behind her.

 

Draco slid his arms around her, pulling her nakedness against his. Hermione closed her eyes. Why did he feel so good? How could she trust this young man after the way he’d treated her?

 

Hermione turned in his arms and succumbed to a kiss. Did it matter?

 

“I want to be inside you,” he whispered, pressing kisses down her throat.

 

**In the morning…**

 

“Draco!”

 

The witch’s shout startled Draco and he blinked awake, reaching for his wand on the bedside table. But she was frozen at the bedside, staring down at him in horror.

 

“What?” he asked, struggling to wake up his brain. He looked down at himself and finally understood.

 

“It appears you broke a couple of ribs,” he said, admiring the dark bruises on his side.

 

“Merlin’s wand! I’m sorry! Are you in pain? How did I do that?”

 

Draco let the witch carry on while she gathered his clothes and tossed them at him.

 

“We must go to the infirmary,” she ordered breathlessly.

 

Draco eyed her as he carefully pulled on his robes. She had a couple of new bruises, as well; but he wasn’t about to point them out. He’d let her friends question her about the love bites.

 

“You don’t need to walk me – I know the way,” Draco said, just for the sake of arguing.

 

“No, I insist. I can’t believe this. I’m sorry, Draco,” she fretted.

 

Draco wondered how someone so smart could be so dumb. Why didn’t she see him smirking at her as they left their common room?

 

As she tried to help him down a stairwell, she jostled Draco’s arm and he gasped at the sharp pain.

 

“I’m sorry!” she trilled, obviously guilt-stricken.

 

“Be careful,” he snapped, yanking his arm away. “I’ve said I don’t need help.”

 

“I’ll just see you there. I feel awful,” she replied, voice high.

 

They reached the infirmary and found Madame Pomfrey tidying cots.

 

“My, you’re up early. Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger,” she said, eyeing them.

 

“Small matter,” Draco said and slowly lifted his robe to show her his side.

 

“I did it, Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione squeaked.

 

“You re-broke his ribs?” the medi-witch asked, directing Draco to sit on a cot.

 

“’Re-broke?”’ Hermione repeated, mystified.

 

“Quidditch!” she suddenly shouted, turning a furious glare on Draco. “ _You, dick_!”

 

And she was gone in a swirl of dark curls and red-lined robes. Draco would have laughed harder but his side hurt so much.

 

“I don’t want to know,” Madame Pomfrey muttered as she directed the bone-knitting spell.


	5. Chapter 5

**Three months later…**

 

“What potion _was_ that?” Hermione asked, still catching her breath.

 

Draco has placed three drops of potion on her skin – one on each of her breasts and one on the small of her back. Each point alternated between burning with scorching cold and searing with scalding heat. The sensations coupled with Draco’s expert attentions had tipped Hermione into an incendiary climax that sent a ripple of shuddering pleasure through her when her mind touched on the memory.

 

“Nothing special,” he said, adjusting the arm trapped under her until Hermione’s head was cradled against his chest.

 

Hermione gave a sigh to hear his slowing heartbeat.

 

“What are you doing for the holidays?” he yawned.

 

“I’ve got plans,” she hummed, utterly sated. “You?”

 

“Mother wants me to see the new house. She’s adamant. I think I better go.”

 

“Mm,” Hermione agreed. She returned to lazily stroking the arm about her. 

 

“I rather miss your stories,” she confessed. 

 

“This is better,” he rumbled, squeezing her. 

 

Hermione chuckled. “Yes, but I miss the anticipation... I never knew what I would hear...”

 

Draco gave a sleepy laugh. 

 

“I… Want a bit more,” she confessed, voice tight.

 

Draco blinked, her tone rousing him. “I won’t do to you what Sirena did to me.”

 

“I don’t want that.”

 

Draco pulled her onto her back so that he could see her face.

 

“Will you teach me Tantra?”

 

Draco released his breath. “You had me worried.”

 

“I’m comfortable with the little bit of bondage we’ve done and I certainly appreciate pain as part of pleasure but nothing like what Sirena did to you. It’s the anticipation that I miss. The prolonging...”

 

Draco nestled back down onto his pillow and dragged Hermione to his side.

 

“Tantra’s not just a shag marathon…” he said, muffled. “Only if you’re sure.”

 

Happily buzzing with contentment and pleased with Draco’s understanding, Hermione nodded and drifted to sleep beside him. 

 

**Friday night**

 

“What’s all this?”

 

Draco settled the blanket on the floor with a flick of his wand and shrugged.

 

“Your lesson awaits, Luv.”

 

His room was lit by a single, hovering candle, throwing everything but a circle of the blanket into darkness.

 

“We don’t have to chant or anything, do we?”

 

“All you need to do is strip,” Draco flashed the witch a glimpse of bare shoulder under his bathrobe and she grinned.

 

Despite the countless times he’d explored her body, watching her remove her robes made his breath catch in his throat. Her flawless cream skin, strawberry-tipped breasts, and the coffee-colored curls at the crux of her thighs were almost inspiration enough to chuck the idea of Tantra, bend Hermione over the mattress, and help her forget all about it. 

 

As she gave her clothes a final shove with the tip of her toe, Draco dropped his robe, sat on the blanket, and beckoned to her with a crooked finger.

 

“Sit down,” he directed. “On me,” he added with a grin.

 

“This will be graceful,” she muttered dropping to her knees before him.

 

After Hermione swung her feet towards him, Draco grasped her ankles and pulled her close. He guided her legs around him and settled her onto his lap.

 

“Comfortable?” he asked, smirking at her skeptical gaze.

 

“Quite,” she replied, smirking back. “What now?”

 

“Look at me,” he said, voice husky. He wanted her already. The touch of her hands and the smell of her skin elicited desire he could barely contain.

 

Her dark honey irises focused on his face, flicking from one eye to the other.

 

“Pick just one,” he said, remembering Ava giving him the same direction.

 

“Okay,” she replied in a whisper.

 

“Good. Now, when I breathe in, you breathe out and vice versa.”

 

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes that she was an obedient student, Draco distracted himself by tightening his hold on her. Hermione gave him a small smile, expertly matching his breathing pattern.

 

Returning her stare, Draco noticed a blush spreading across her cheeks. What on earth could she have to be embarrassed about after the things they’d done to one another?

 

“Now we match our breathing,” he said, momentarily holding his breath until Hermione took a breath.

 

For awhile, Draco and Hermione were in sync. Inexplicably, something that might have been fear crept into the witch’s gaze.

 

“It’s a bit meditative,” Draco said softly, confused.

 

“I don’t want this,” Hermione muttered, leaning in for an aggressive kiss.

 

Draco succumbed. Who was he to deny a wanton witch? The kiss quickly devolved into a hasty fuck, rug burns included.

 

**Later**

 

“Tantra’s not for everyone,” Draco said as he climbed off the floor and, one at a time, rolled his shoulders.

 

“Do we need to talk about it?” Hermione asked, voice edging on exasperation.

 

“Absolutely not,” Draco replied lightly.

 

Relieved, Hermione accepted his hand and maneuvered herself to standing. One of the many things she appreciated about her arrangement with Draco was that he had no emotional investment. If she didn’t want to talk about something, he wouldn’t push.

 

The Tantra had unsettled her. Rather than distract her, the meditative state had dragged her emotions to the front of her brain and the horrors of the war had surfaced. She couldn’t let those emotions rule her. She wouldn’t. Not to mention, she didn’t think Draco wanted to be cried all over.

 

“I’m not tired,” she said, spotting Draco watching her.

 

“Neither am I,” he replied, wicked twinkle in his eye. “Since you got here, I’ve been imagining bending you over the mattress…”

 

Hermione’s mouth went dry. _Yes_. That’s what she wanted. Brain-numbing sex.

 

“By all means,” she said throatily.

 

In the space of a heartbeat, Draco grasped Hermione’s arm, dragged her to his bed, and pushed her face-down into the soft comforter. He pinned her wrists together with one of his hands, tight at the small of her back. The sensation of him nudging her ankles apart with his feet jolted gasps from her throat. Whimpers escaped her as his fingers slicked through her sensitive folds.

 

When Draco positioned his cock at the hot cave of her center, Hermione wiggled, encouraging him to sink himself into her depths. He teased her with the velvet head of his cock, pressing just the tip inside of her and then withdrawing to slip between her folds. Hermione groaned and an expletive escaped her lips. Draco only laughed and continued to tease her until her legs felt like jelly and she was begging him inside.

 

Finally, he sank into her. Hermione’s eyes crossed in bliss and she came immediately, her inner walls clamping hard to milk Draco.

 

**Train to London**

 

“Zabini,” said a tentative voice.

 

Blaise cracked one eye open to peer at the cretin idiot enough to disturb his nap. It was a Fifth-Year. The witch Prefect.

 

“What?” he grunted.

 

“I went to see the Head Boy but…”

 

Blaise’s senses went sharp and he was suddenly wide awake. _Was something wrong with Draco?_

“Where is he?”

 

“He’s in the Head student compartment but…”

 

Blaise stormed through compartments, elbowing anyone who dared remain in his path, the Prefect hot on his heels.

 

When Blaise slid open the Head Students’ compartment door, it took him a moment to process the scene upon which he looked. Draco had fallen asleep; not an uncommon event for Slytherins on the train. Friday night before Christmas hols was a traditional drink-until-dawn night. The strange thing was that the Head Girl was also asleep. Apparently, Draco’s shoulder was a comfortable pillow because her head was on it. And, she was either a thief or Draco had been feeling charitable, because his cloak was draped over her like a blanket. Was that a love bite on her neck..?

 

Blaise absorbed the scene and finally understood Draco’s abrupt cancellation of his drinking parties. He was shagging his roommate.

 

Closing the compartment door with bemusement, Blaise cast a Repelling Charm on the door to keep other students away and rounded on the Fifth-Year Prefect.

 

“You saw nothing,” he ordered, dark eyes boring a threat into the witch’s soul.

 

She squeaked an affirmative and hurried away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Train to Hogwarts**

 

As the train wound through the countryside, Draco resisted the urge to cast a summoning charm. Hermione had not turned up in the Head Students’ compartment. His thoughts wandered to the little package nestled deep inside his carry bag. While strolling through the Diagon Alley, he’d spotted the book charm and bought it along with a bracelet. He’d done it because he thought she’d like it. He’d done it without thinking about consequences or reason.

 

Draco had forgotten about it until that morning when he stuffed his cloak into his trunk and found the parcel. He supposed that a house-elf must have wrapped and packed it.

 

Irritated to hear a squeal of laughter from a neighboring compartment, Draco gave into his whim and began stalking the corridors, eyes keen for the witch who had captured his attention.

 

Intent on finding one face amidst the crowd, Draco ignored the sly glances and bold winks of witches and the hails of younger wizards he passed. A reflection in the train windows flashed the image of someone following him but Draco continued on, eyes still darting from witch to wizard, hoping to spot Hermione. Not until he had reached the Head Students’ compartment did he realize it was Blaise tailing him.

 

“Do you have a new father, yet?” Draco asked, sliding the compartment door open.

 

“Very funny,” Blaise snapped.

  
Draco smirked. Blaise’s mother’s need to be married outweighed her good judgement and Blaise often found himself in need to escape from her husbands. The Malfoys always made him feel welcome but that didn’t stop Draco from needling him about it.   


“I’m smuggling in five bottles of fire whiskey... When are we drinking them?” Blaise asked as they settled into the private compartment.

 

“I don’t want to drink like that anymore,” Draco baldly replied.

 

“Something else keeping you busy..?”

 

A chill flitted through Draco. He wasn’t prepared to excuse himself.

 

“I wish,” he huffed. Denial was the best he could come up with.

 

“It could happen...” Blaise said, gaze on the misty window.

 

“What are you talking about?” Draco snapped. What did he think he knew?

 

“So, it’s a witch, then?”

 

“Is what a witch?”

 

“You can tell me, Draco.”

 

“I would if there was something to tell.”

 

“Right,” Blaise replied dryly, clearly skeptical.

 

Realizing he needed to steer his friend’s thoughts away from witches, Draco explained that his parents had moved into a temporary home while Malfoy manor was made anew.

 

Face carefully blank, Blaise asked, “Oh?”

 

Eager to shift focus from himself, Draco asked, “What about you? Do anyone interesting?”

 

Blaise’s sudden smirk told Draco he’d been successful in distracting him.

 

*

 

Relief and thrill mingled in Draco as he entered the Head Students’ common area and discover Hermione’s door sitting cracked open. He flung his briefcase onto his bed and forced himself to walk, rather than sprint, to her door. He tapped on it.

 

“Come in,” called the voice he’d missed for the past two weeks.

 

“I’ve never been in your... So, that’s where my tie went.”

 

Red and gold light dappled Hermione’s skin as she lay languorously across her bed, wearing only a Slytherin necktie. The next few moments were a blur. Draco was aware only of spotting her on her bed and then, kissing her as she pulled at his shirt buttons. What was that phrase about absence making the heart grow fonder? Well, it seemed that absence also made sex hotter. After satiating themselves, Draco was restless.

 

While Hermione continued to lounge, teasingly draped in a sheet, he moved slowly around her room, examining her belongings. The room couldn’t be more different than his. Tall, stained glass windows stretched from a window seat to the ceiling and her furnishings were full of cushion.

 

“I didn’t see you on the train.” He said conversationally, hiding precisely how concerned he’d been.

 

“I Apparated into Hogsmeade a few days early… You look well. How was your holiday?”

 

“Shockingly quiet and... Nice. Mother went all out with decorations and dinners and presents.”

 

“That sounds lovely,” Hermione was almost misty-eyed.

 

“What about yours? Why did you come back early?”

 

“I paid a visit to the newlywed Potters...”

 

“Ugh, say no more.”

 

Hermione laughed. 

 

“You didn’t visit your parents?” Draco asked.

 

Hermione’s glance became guarded. “They’re not around.”

 

Realizing there was a story behind her evasiveness, Draco refrained from digging. She wasn’t volunteering anything. For some reason, he imagined having her in his home, with his family, over the holiday. A sensation of desire filled him and it took Draco a moment to realize that he was staring at her workbench.

 

“You brew potions in here?” He asked. The book laying open beside her cauldron was one for witches’ personal care. A contraceptive potion. He’d never thought about it...

 

“Do you ever plan to have children?” He asked before he could stop himself.

 

Hermione had been silently watching him, utterly at ease letting him explore. Could Draco ever suffer someone to look through his room as she was allowing Him? She cracked a grin at his question.

 

“Not today.”

 

Draco lifted a brow at her and smiled back.

 

“But, yes, someday,” she added softly.

 

Draco nodded and moved on to read the spines of her shelved books. Noticing Several Dark Arts titles, he was startled by a horrific thought.

 

“We’re your parents killed? Is that what you didn’t say?”

 

“No. I Obliviated their memories of me.” She replied in a tight voice.

 

Draco blinked at her. “They may as well have been killed.”

 

“They were safer,” she sighed.

 

“Can’t reverse the spell?”

 

Hermione waited a heartbeat before answering. “They have a new daughter and they’re happy. I don’t want to reverse it.”

 

“And you don’t hate me? You don’t blame me?” Draco couldn’t help asking.

 

“There was a time when I did... but I know that you were acting out of - you were protecting your family.”

 

Draco hated that she knew the truth even as relief cooled his building dread. He’d been helpless and weak. If it had been anyone but Hermione speaking to him, he would have attacked. Something about Hermione inspired Draco to share. He realized that when he looked at her, he saw the same wariness and fear in her that he’d once felt.  

 

“When Ava taught me Tantra,” he began, voice quiet. “Something inside me broke. I cried for an hour and couldn’t move for two more. But, the next time I let her connect with me, I was spent and my anguish was gone.”

 

Hermione stared hard at Draco. He saw a tinge of fear in her and knew exactly how she felt.

 

“Why do you want to help me?” she asked.

 

He shrugged, “Because someone helped me.”

 

“That’s all? No plans to blackmail me later?”

 

Draco wanted to confess. He wanted to tell her that he cared about her but he couldn’t. He was her means to an end and that was all. If she suspected that he, a former Death Eater, had feelings for her, she’d probably push him away in disgust. He needed to lighten the mood.

 

“You’re giving me ideas,” he leered. “Besides, you started all of this - climbing into my bed when I was drunk.”

 

Draco slid onto the narrow mattress beside Hermione. She kissed his shoulder.

 

“You offered,” she shrugged, succumbing to a prolonged kiss.

 

An hour later, Draco was finally exhausted. He wished his wand was within reach so that he could enlarge the bed but Hermione was draped across him and he didn’t want her to move.

 

“Tantra got too intense for me. The intimacy was too – real,” she said in a hushed voice, fingertips tracing soft designs on his chest.

 

“You should know by now that you can trust me,” Draco replied.

 

“Oddly enough, I do trust you, Draco. It - just overwhelmed me.”

 

“It’s okay to feel scared,” he replied, understanding, and warmed to his toes to hear her say that she trusted him.

 

She remained quiet.

 

“Let me know if you ever want to try, again,” he offered, pressing a kiss to her temple.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title** : Catharsis

 **Rating** : Explicit

 **Pairing** : Dramione

 **Warning** : EWE, not Pottermore-compliant

 **Beta** :

 **Started** : 2015 sometime

 **A/N** : A bingo prompt table inspired the fic even though I’m not using it as directed. Hee hee!

 **Summary** :  Hermione overhears stories that have an effect on her.

 

**Chapter 7**

**After the Christmas Hols…**

 

Dinner had been cleared but Draco was still at the Slytherin table, determined to finish a chapter before returning to his room. Once he laid eyes on Hermione, he’d be unable to focus on anything else. Unfortunately, reading wasn’t in the stars. Zabini slid onto the opposite bench and gave a low whistle.

 

“Seen Granger, lately?”

 

 _“Yes, I’ve been fucking her brains out on a nightly basis,” Draco_ refrained from drawling.

 

“No,” he said, instead.

 

“I don’t know what happened but that witch went from cute to hot overnight,” Blaise muttered, staring hard at a point, presumably Hermione, across the Great Hall.

 

 _“I may have some idea of what’s gotten into her,”_ Draco didn’t say.

 

“What’s your obsession with Granger?” Draco didn’t have to force his annoyance.

 

“You need to get your eyes checked,” Zabini grinned, flicking at Draco’s book.

 

 _“And you need to take yours off her,”_ Draco wanted to growl. Time to refocus Zabini.

 

“Whatever. It’s a Hogsmeade weekend…”

 

“I’m asking her to go with me,” Blaise announced, suddenly getting to his feet and sweeping around the table to Draco’s side.

 

_“Don’t. You. Dare.”_

 

“Who?” Draco asked, feigning distraction.

 

Blaise smacked the back of Draco’s head as he passed him and made his way over to the Gryffindor table. Draco didn’t know what to do. He drew his wand but didn’t want to risk trouble by firing a jinx at Zabini.

 

As Zabini leaned over the table beside Hermione and spoke to her, the night’s pudding turned into a brick in Draco’s stomach.

 

For the first time since they’d started shagging, Hermione’s gaze sought Draco’s across the tables. He didn’t know what it meant. He was unprepared to deal with Zabini, let alone any other wizard, approaching Hermione. Was it even his business? Despising his uncertainty, Draco got up and stalked out of the Hall.

 

**After Dinner**

 

When Hermione found Draco’s room dark, she fought a chuckle. He was stewing…

 

“You looked a little green after dinner,” she offered.

 

“Must have been a bad meal,” Draco grumbled in reply.

 

Hermione cast a silent charm to light the room and sauntered to the chair in which Draco sat, moping.

 

“Did you tell Blaise about us?” she asked, slowly plucking apart the buttons down her robes.

 

“Course not,” Draco snapped.

 

Despite his gruffness, Hermione noted his gaze flicking from the cold fireplace to the movement of her hands.

 

“Then why did he ask me to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

 

“What’d you say?” Draco asked.

 

Hermione heard his unspoken worry. Why did he fight it? Why couldn’t he just say it? The prat deserved it at least a little bit of pain.

 

“I said I might see him there,” she quipped, loosening her tie.

 

“I see,” Draco said through his teeth, cheeks pink with building anger.

 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hermione gently chided, drawing the tie from her neck and draping it across his arm.

 

“He thinks you’re hot. That’s why he asked.”

 

Surprised, Hermione burst into laughter.

 

“Is that funny?”

 

“It’s ridiculous. I’m a brain, not a bod,” she said.

 

“Oh, Hermione. Honey, you’re both.”

 

Pleased and surprised by the compliment, Hermione’s glance meandered the room and her fingers faltered at the hem of her blouse.

 

“I don’t know what do with that. I’ve got spell scars and...”

 

“You should just say thank you,” Draco replied, shaking his head.

 

Hermione smiled and warmed to her toes. “Thank you.”

 

“So, you’re going to see him this weekend?”

 

“Anything’s possible,” Hermione quipped, toeing off her shoes.

 

“I didn’t think you liked Blaise,” Draco grumbled.

 

“Isn’t he your best friend?”

 

“Friend is relative.”

 

“Am I your friend?” Hermione asked, suggestively drawing her fingertips up Draco’s arm.

 

Finally, his grey eyes met Hermione’s.

 

“A different kind of friend,” he replied in a hushed voice. His hand wrapped around her wrist and used it to pull her onto his lap.

 

“Well, _friend_. When Blaise asked me to Hogsmeade, I realized something a little strange,” Hermione breathed as his lips found her neck and his hand slipped under her skirt.

 

“This may come as a surprise but I don’t want to talk about Blaise,” he muttered against her throat.

 

The gentle tug of his teeth on her skin sent heat rushing through her; Hermione gasped and almost gave in to his familiar touch. She placed a hand on his chest and pushed away.

 

“You’ll want to hear this,” she promised.

 

“Shock me,” he said, eyes shining and hair already mussed.

 

“I don’t want to go to Hogsmeade with Blaise. There’s another wizard I’m hoping will ask me.”

 

“What?” he snapped with a sudden frown.

 

“Yes, but I don’t think he will.”

 

“Then, he’s mad,” Draco replied, a curious lilt in his voice.

 

“Possibly.”

 

“Ask him.”

 

“Do wizards like that?” Hermione teased.

 

“You know a great deal about what wizards like. Can we please stop talking about other wizards?”

 

“You’re not jealous, are you?”

 

“No more talk,” Draco growled. He pulled Hermione into a punishing kiss, the sort that melted her knickers and made her forget her safe word.

 

After a hot, satisfying romp on the chair, Hermione found herself wanting to confess. She couldn’t help it. She’d been shagging Draco for months and she’d grown to quite adore the prat.

 

Without thinking, she swept her fingertips down the side of his face and under his chin. A day’s growth of stubble scratched her. She felt more than heard his sigh.

 

“If it isn’t me, tell me now.”

 

“If it isn’t you what?” she asked.

 

“Who you want to ask you out. Just tell me.” His eyes were closed and his head tipped back as if surrendering to defeat.

 

Oh! Hermione considered having a laugh but his temperament didn’t take well to being the butt of jokes even though he often made them at the expense of others.

 

“Of course, it’s you,” she replied, pressing her lips to his temple.

 

“Thank Salazar. I’d hate to have to curse some wretched wizard,” he drawled, sounding more like his smarmy self.

 

“As if you needed excuses to curse wretched wizards,” Hermione teased.

 

“You know me well,” he smirked.

 

Draco’s arms tightened around her and he kissed Hermione, again.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: EWE, not Pottermore-compliant  
> Started: 2015 sometime  
> A/N: A bingo prompt table inspired the fic even though I’m not using it as directed. >:)


End file.
